


On The Outskirts

by undernightlight



Series: [Patrick+Mackenzie] euphoria [3]
Category: Undrafted (2016)
Genre: F/M, First Meeting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 00:07:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18981136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undernightlight/pseuds/undernightlight
Summary: The story of how Patrick  first met Mackenzie.





	On The Outskirts

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this so long ago and honestly I can't remember when. I'm sure there are many mistakes, but it's done at least.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

The rain was only light, and it gave her photos and extra edge to them, fitting her desired feel. Her assignment brief was ‘On The Outskirts’. She wasn’t really sure what to think of that at first, what it was supposed to mean or what she was supposed to take pictures of, but when she looked out of her dorm window that night, and saw the rain yet clear and bright moon in the sky, she just understood what she wanted. Within ten minutes, she was dressed again, earphone in and camera in hand, and out the door. She hadn’t thought too much about it, about composition or lighting or layout, but she’d know the shot when she saw it.

Mackenzie was on the other side of the campus from her accomodation. The street lamps had this warmthing, yellow glow, but with the moon and the rain, it took on a different feel, something darker and unsettling. It was mostly deserted – surprising for a university – and she was thankful for the silence. Except it wasn’t silent, just quiet. In the distance, the sound of the batting cages could be heard. She continued taking pictures, having to wipe her lens in between every shot or two, and then she listened a little more, something sounding off. She could hear the distance ‘thwunk’ of the ball from the machine, and a ‘tshh’ when the ball his the metal fence. It repeated in that pattern, thwunk-tshh-thwunk-tshh, but never the sound of ‘cpuck’ of a ball hitting a bat. She listened for a moment before returning attention to her project and brief, but her attention didn’t stay held for long as she heard a scream from the cages. It was loud and roaring and angry and heated, and it started Mackenzie enough to whip her head round and her fingers to lose grip on her camera – thank god for her neck strap. She wasn’t close enough to be able to see the cages, as they were up on top of a small hill towards the running track. She was confused and concerned. Another thwunk-tshh and another angry scream.

With her concern growing and also her curiosity, she let her camera hang loosely around her neck and she wandered in the direction of the batting cages. The shouts continued, and she was able to distinguish the occasional word and phrase, always including a profanity. The cages were on top of his small hill, tucked away slightly behind some trees, one opening from the branches facing towards the school buildings, and she walked up. She came upon the sight of a young man, probably a few years older than her, and s bit taller, screaming to a baseball bat. He wore a light blue t-shirt tucked into grey baseball trousers tucking into black socks. His chest was heaving as he shouted, and then he started hitting the ground with his bat forcefully, shouting ‘fuck’ over and over. At least the ball machine had stopped and the guy wasn’t getting hit. She looked and saw a small heap of baseballs against the back fence.

“Hey,” she called out. The young man hadn’t seen her, and he was clearly expecting that nobody would be out this late and he therefore wouldn’t be disturbed, because at the sound of her voice, he jumped slightly, standing up straight instantly and dropping the bat from his hands. It clunked at it hit the plate under his feet. He turned to her, his eyes firing heat in her direction, jaw clenched and eyebrows drawn down low. “Everything alright?”

“Fine!” He barked back before bending down and snatching up the bat. He pressed a button on the side of his bay, and ball came hurtling out of the machine towards him. He swung and he missed, then screamed again.

“You don’t sound alright,” Mackenzie offered as gently as she could; he did seem quite volatile.

“What are you still doing here?” He only turned back briefly to look at her before shouldering and pressing the button. Another ball, another swing, another miss.

“I was just wondering of you were alright. You sounded pretty pissed from where I was.”

“Maybe I am, so what? It has nothing to do with you so get lost.”

She spoke again before he could bat. “What if I don’t want to?” His body went stiff, and unlike before, he slowly turned back to her. He let the bat fall to his side, his fingers holding around the end stop, and he slowly stepped towards the fence. He came right up to the metal.

“Go. Away.”

His tone was dead and flat but aggressive. He turned back to the machine. He missed the next ball that came to him. Mackenzie was stubborn and didn’t like being told what to do, and he just seemed so bad at baseball that she was intrigued, so instead of leaving, she scanned along the fence looking for the entrance to the cage. She saw the open door to the left round the side and walked to it. She entered, and strolled her way to the adjacent bay, leaning against the fence. Her fingers wrapping around the metal wire, making the chain rattle which drew his attention. When he looked at her, despite another fail hit, he looked more confused now than angry.

“Do I know you? Do you want something?”

“I don’t know you. I don’t want anything.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I told you, I came to see if you were alright. I’ll leave when I’m satisfied that you are.”

He shook his head, baffled by her response, before turning his attention back. He tried his best to ignore her, and though she didn’t speak, she wasn’t exactly helping his performance. Mackenzie stepped back a little and watched. The young man switched the dial on the machine to allow the balls to keep firing without him having to stop in between bats. She watched every time as he shouldered and swung, and every time he’d miss. But she watched, and there was something about the way his body moved that made her draw her camera up to her eye. She snapped a few pictures in rapid succession, focusing on his with the blurred fencing in the foreground. She was surprised when she heard that ‘cpuck’ sound; he’d stuck the ball with the bat and it flew down the bay and hit the netting behind the machine. 

When she looked up from her camera screen after looking over the photos, she found him looking at her, eyebrows furrowed, but he didn’t seem angry. His chest was still rising and falling, struggling to get air into his lungs, but he wasn’t heaving, just panting. His lips were parted, and after a few moments of just staring at each other, he spoke.

“I didn’t say you could take my picture.” His tone was a mix of anger directed towards her, anger directed at himself, and confusion.

She shrugged slightly. “Better to ask forgiveness than permission,” she gave a half smile, hoping to somehow draw one out from him but it didn’t work. He bent down and started picking up the balls from behind him, and there were many, to take to refill the machine. He walked away from her, his hands and arms full, but there were still balls on the ground, so Mackenzie thought it was only fair since she was invading his training, to pick them up and follow him over. She handed them to him once his hands were free.

“Thanks,” he said, confused as to why she was helping him. She nodded, a little smile on his face again, and walked back. He stood there, confused still, for some seconds longer, before walking back to the plate. Mackenzie sat on the plate in the bay next to his, and he kept his eyes on her, watching her, as she scrolled through her camera again, but he couldn’t see what she was looking at. He gave up trying to see, and returned to his batting. She snapped some more pictures from her lower angle.The young man’s hit rate had increased, actually hitting the occasional ball, thought he never seemed to smile when he did.

He stopped the machine after some period of time. There were still balls to come but he needed a break and a drink. He pulled his helmet off, letting it drop from his hand, before reaching into his bag for his bottle of water. She looked up when she heard the helmet hit the ground.

“Who are you anyway?” He asked her.

“Who are you?”

“I asked first.”

“Mackenzie.”

“You’re a student here, judging by your hoodie.” She was wearing the college logo embroidered in her hoodie.

“Yeah, an arts student. And yourself?”

“Not an arts student.”

“Meet me halfway, come on.”

“No,” he said. She stood up, and only then noticed the rain had stopped. When it stopped she wasn’t sure. She dusted herself off. Mackenzie found herself bored with his lack of cooperation, though she understood it completely.

“Well then,” she spoke as she stretched, “I better leave you to you’re practise. You’re getting there,” with a smile. He managed to give a crooked half smile to her. It could’ve been mallous, like the way some of his team often were, mocking him and poking fun at his inability to bat, but it didn’t come across that way. Her tone was soft and encouraging, and it felt like a genuine compliment, so that smile that formed on his face after her works felt comfortable on his lips.

She walked away, going back through the open gate and onto the grassy hill.

He wasn’t sure what made him do it, but he found himself calling out to her before he could stop himself. “Patrick,” and her head turned to the sound of his voice, looking slightly confused. His eyes fell closed as he sighed deeply, and then opened before saying, “My name’s Patrick.”

# # # # # #

Mackenzie had another assignment, same class and teacher, but that wasn’t why she was out late exactly one week later. Her ‘On The Outskirts’ projects, her pictures and paint swatches and flowers and writing, all fitting together so smoothly on the white foam board, came with outstanding comments from her lecturer. She was proud of her work. That young man, Patrick, had taken up two spots on the board, middle left and bottom right. Her teacher asked about the photos, who he was and why she chose them. At first, she couldn’t quite place the words, but then her mouth opened and they flowed out with ease:

“I don’t know him, just sort of came across him one night, and he was rude to me but I stayed to watch him bat. And I’m not sure what it was about him, but something seemed vakant in him, like...like he was tired of being alone but like he was so used to it, he didn’t know what to do to change it all.”

The teacher questioned her again, asking if she was sure she didn’t know him, and Mackenzie just laughed. The next assignment was set, but that was not why she was out that night – she practically already finished the work. She was hopeful to find Patrick again and thank him, not that he let her take his picture really to begin, but she felt obligated to as well as wanting to. She had nothing but a name to go on, so she knew her best chance to find him was to return to where they met. He wasn’t there the day after, and she thought that a week later he might be back – she hoped he kept a schedule – so a week later, she was on the other side of campus. She could hear the cages going, and the ball against the metal fence, the thwunk-tshh sound she was hoping to hear.

She walked up the hill and there, in the same bay as the week before, was Patrick, batting away. He had the same pants and boots and helmet as last time, but a different t-shirt, black with long sleeves but still tucked in. Every ball that came his way he swung at, and every ball he missed. Mackenzie smiled as she leaned forward into the fence, linking her fingers around the metal.

“Hard working paying off I see,” she said. He turned upon hearing the voice, surprised to be disturbed. A ball flew from the machine and whizzed past him, and he remembered the machine was still on. He turned it off then turned back the her, a light smile on her face. “At least you didn’t get hit,” she added.

He chuckled a little, only once, letting the bat hang loosely at his side. “Didn’t think I’d see you again. You don’t strike me as someone who plays baseball.”

“I’ll have you know I used to play for my high school softball team.”

“That’s not the same.”

“Close enough.” He chuckled again, smiling slightly with his head dropped looking at his feet. “I wanted to thank you.”

Patrick looked up confused, a pull still at his lips. “What for?”

“I may have used some of those pictures I took of you for my school project.”

“I’m assuming it turned out well then.”

“Brilliant.”

“Well, glad I could help.”

Patrick wasn’t sure if he should start the machine or not as he watched her leave the fence and head towards the gate. She walked into cages and stepped this time into his bay, and leant back against the fence with a smile. Patrick opened his mouth to speak but found no words came out, not that he was even sure what he wanted to say. Instead, he just managed a crooked smile. He smiled a lot at her though he didn’t know her. We wasn’t the most expressive when it came to happiness, yet her smile seemed contagious.

She smiled, then moved to stand to the other side of bay fence. “Get batting boy,” she said. He couldn’t quite tell if there was a flirtatious undertone to the words she spoke, so he decided to ignore that and just bat. He started up the machine again and when the ball came he swung, but missed. And he missed then next four too. He screamed out, the machine out of balls with them all laying behind him. He’d somehow, so quickly, forgotten Mackenzie was there – she was silent and he was engrossed – until she stepped back round into his bay. He was startled slightly, but managing to keep the bat in his hand.

He wasn’t sure what reaction he was expecting from her, but he knew it wasn’t another warm smile, and that just took him off guard. His mouth fell open and his eyes softened, the anger from missing already seeming to leave him.

“Don’t stress.” He wasn’t sure that would really help, but he smiled anyway. “How long you been out here practising?”

“A couple hours, why?”

“Then you need a break,” she said, “I know this diner that’s pretty close and stays open twenty four hours, if you want to get something to eat.” She didn’t know him, only his name, and despite him clearly having some degree of anger issues, she couldn’t help but see him as someone she wanted to know a bit better.

“I urm…”

“You don’t have to, it’s alright.”

“It’s just I really need to practise this. We’ve got a extra game on Saturday and I need all the practise I can get. Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine, don’t worry about. Well, I should leave you to it then, get your practise in.” She smiled and turned and walked out the cages. Patrick watched and couldn’t help but feel bad. He wanted to go, but this game needed to go well for them to continue in the league. She left the cage, waved him off and started heading down the hill.

He began rummaging through his bag as quickly as his could searching for a pen and paper, but he could only find a pen. “Mackenzie!” He shouted, running out the cage, skidding slighting but catching himself on the fence before he could fall. He jogged down the hill, and she’d heard him and stopped and was waiting expectantly.

He struggled to get the words out at first, but smiled and held up the pen. “I don’t have any paper, but I could give you my number. It’d be cool, I mean, I’d like to hang out with you sometime, get coffee or something.”

Her lips curled up into a small and warm smile, then held out her palm to him. “I’d like that Patrick.” He scrawled his number as best he could onto her hand, trying to keep it readable, with a nervous smile.


End file.
